Page 2 of Devoted Mountain Man

“Come on, puppy,” I said, looking around.

No sign of anyone. It was pretty dark out here. The only thing visible from where I stood was the small cabin next door. The glow of lights said someone was home, but the driveway was still empty. Had been since I arrived yesterday.

Since this was a vacation rental, I assumed that one was too. Maybe it sat empty. It was an off time of year. The dead of summer wasn’t exactly tourist season in a ski town like Seduction Summit, so I just assumed the cabin had no renters.

Looking around one more time, I finally took my chances and stepped onto the cabin’s front porch. The dog stood, tail wagging, and took the few steps necessary to stand next to me.

“Where did you come from?” I reached and petted the dog’s neck for a few seconds and heard a jingle.

The dog wore a collar, and from it hung three small charms. One read Gigi, one was a rabies vaccination tag, and the third had a long ID number. In the morning, I could take the dog to the vet and see if that number led me to an owner, but for now…

I stared at the cabin next door, frowning. I could take the dog inside for the night, but what if her owner was looking for her? It was possible the dog had made its way here from the next neighborhood over, but that seemed unlikely. This place was way off the beaten path.

No, it was more likely the dog had trounced over from that cabin next door. Maybe Gigi’s owner had no idea she was gone. I had to at least go check.

I took a deep breath, scooped up Gigi, and stood. Dog snuggled against my chest, I started walking. She sure seemed happy about it, and that gave me the confidence it took to keep walking. But once I reached the front porch of the cabin next door, I had second thoughts as I glanced back over my shoulder at my rental cabin.

Crap. I forgot to lock the front door. I should go back, right? I had to go back.

No, it was okay. This was just about the safest town in America. Still, my thriller novelist brain—which was partly a byproduct of years of consuming crime content in TV, documentary, podcast, and book form—couldn’t help but freak out a little about walking across the yard with my cabin wide open. I’d just knock on the door and head right back when nobody answered. At best, someone would open the door, grab the dog, thank me, and go back in.

It was actually better. This would give me an excuse to not go inside if I was invited. I could rush back to my cabin and get started on that book.

But as I turned my attention to the front door, something felt off. I couldn’t put my finger on it until I looked for a doorbell. There was no renter’s lock. The keypad with numbers that was on every single rental home everywhere was missing. Just a standard door with a lock.

Did someone live here? If so, where was her car? It had to be a “she” with a dog like this. Was that sexist? Maybe. I just couldn’t picture one of Seduction Summit’s huge, muscly, lumberjack types having a dog like this. They’d have something manly, like a pit bull or a German shepherd.

No, this would be a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length hair, dyed blonde. She’d probably wear designer clothes and be walking around barefoot, showing off her perfectly pedicured toes.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and both Gigi and I jumped. This cabin didn’t have a storm door. That meant I was face-to-face with the god of lumberjacks.

He had dark hair and piercing blue eyes. His chiseled jaw was clenched. His mouth formed a firm, straight line.

Uh-oh. He was pissed that I was interrupting him. He’d probably slam the door in my face when I asked if Gigi belonged to him.

“This dog came scratching on my door,” I said.

He was still staring at me. What did that mean? It clearly wasn’t his dog. If it had been, he would have snatched her up by now. Instead, he stood there, staring at me like he wasn’t sure what to make of the scene in front of him.

“Gigi,” he said. “She’s mine.”

Now I was staring at him. He knew her name, so he couldn’t be lying, but none of this quite fit.

“I guess I’m your neighbor,” I said, gesturing toward my cabin and glancing at it as I did.

No creepy murderers wandering around. That was good.

“You’re a renter,” he said.

There was no judgment in the word. His tone was completely neutral. And that was frustrating because I wanted to know what the heck was going through his mind right now.

“Come on in,” he said, stepping back.

I glanced over at my cabin. “I left my door unlocked.”

“It’ll be fine. Nobody comes all the way out here.”

My open cabin had been my excuse to get away if I was invited inside. But I didn’t want to get away.

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